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SOUVENIR 



OF 



BLACK LAKE 



^ ^torp of ti}t l^afit anti Credent 



FLORENCE EARLE PAYNE 



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Copyright, 1917, by 
Florence Earle Payne 



Q'CI.A459705 

m 11 1917 






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LACK LAKE 



In 1792 Alexander Macomb purchased of the 
State of New York all of the town of Rossie and sev- 
eral hundred thousand acres more for 8 pence an acre. 
He failed to secure a title. In 1796 the State bought 
the land of the Mohawk Indians. Two years later 
it was offered for sale at Albany and bid in by 
individuals, the principal buyer being Alexander 
Macomb. He sold a large tract to David Ogden, and 
he in turn sold a part of it to his brother-in-law Abi- 
jah Hannnond, a merchant prince of New York City. 
Without seeing the land Hammond sold 28,871 acres 
to David Parish. It was known that Black Lake ex- 
tended from the settlement near Ogdensburg to the 
boundary of Mr. Parish's possessions. According to 
tradition, on one of the expeditions the party camped 
on an island, calling it Tavern Island, the name it 
still bears today. Early in the Spring of 1810 Mr. 
Parish sent D. W. Church to the head of Black Lake 
to locate a water power. He found one on Indian 
River. That Summer, with the necessary assistants 
and building materials, he boarded a Canadian bat- 
eau, landing about sunset at what is now the village 
of Rossie. The next da}'- the tirst house was built. 
For sixty years thereafter the Parish family, father 
and sons, spent their money freely for the develop- 
ment of this section. The last one of the family to 
reside here — a nephew of David Parish — was given 
the title of Baron von Seftonberg by Austria, and at 
once removed to that country. The town of Rossie 
was named by Mr. Parish after a castle in Scotland 
owned by his brother-in-law. 

In 1812 iron ore was discovered and a furnace 
was constructed to smelt the ores. For years all of 
the ore mined was hauled to Rossie. History tells 
us that lead was discovered bv the little daughter of 



Joel Jepsoii, while dropping seed for her father who 
was planting corn. She saw a stone and hit it break- 
ing it into cnbes of a dark gra}' color. This was the 
Victoria Lead Mine. It was not opened until 1837, 
about eight 3^ears after its discovery. Two lead mining- 
companies were then incorporated — the Rossie Lead 
Mining Co. and the Rossie Galena Co. Other lead 
veins were found and for nearly forty years lead 
mining continued to be the principal industry, em- 
ploying at times large numbers of laborers. On ac- 
count of the low price of lead and the high royalty 
claimed by the owners of the land, the mines were 
finally closed in 1875. Quite recently stones marked 
the foundation walls of a large house built on a hill 
overlooking the old Steamboat Landing. Back of 
it, at the foot of the hill, the mouth of a tunnel where 
lead was mined is still to be seen. Not far from that 
is an old well. In 1910 specimens said to be zinc 
were discovered. Mica, and other minerals whose 
names and uses have not yet been determined, as 
far as known, are also found. At one time a large 
dredge was constructed on the shore of the lake to 
I'aise peat and experiment in pressing it into briquettes 
for fuel. Whether the experiment was successful or 
not is unknown, as the dredge burned to the water's 
edge. 

Hammond was named after Abijah Hammond. 

Macomb is an illustrious name. History tells 
us that "General Alexander Macomb was the son of 
a fur merchant, and was born in Detroit. He entered 
the army as cornet of cavalry. At the beginning of 
the second war for independence (1812) he was a 
lieutenant of engineers and adjutant general of the 
army. In the artillery service he distinguished him- 
self on tlie Niagara frontier. He was promoted to 
brigadier-general earlv in 1814 and was left in chief 
command in the Lake Champlain region in the Sum- 
mer of that year. His victory over the British at 
Plattsburgh in September won for him great honors, 
the thanks of Congress, a gold medal, and awards 



from others. On the death of General Brown in 1835 
he was made general-in-chief of the armies of the 
United States, which position lie held at the time of 
his death." The most popular of the many songs 
composed during tlie war, was written by Micajah 
Hawkins, and sung in a theatre in Albany by him 
in the character of a negro sailor. It was entitled 
"The Siege of Plattsburgh" and the last lines of each 
verse contain General Macomb's name. He secured 
"the right to establish mill dams and mills on the 
Harlem River. He waged unsuccessful warfare with 
his neighbors of lower Westchester. Twice he built 
a dam across the river, and twice the country folks 
destroyed it. Central Bridge now crosses the spot. 
He also built one at Spuyten Duyvil. Facing the 
bridge at this point he built a square stone house 
known as the Godwin House. It is believed that 
the old Philipse Inn is incorporated in this mansion. 
Cooper, in his novel of "Satanstoe," mentions it as the 
stopping place of his hero Corney Littlepage and his 
friend Dirck. The old road curves around the God- 
win House, and a short distance above is Macomb 
street." 

There are many evidences that the Indians were 
numerous around Black Lake. Indian pot-holes, for- 
tifications, arrow tips and other implements of war 
and chase have been found upon the islands and on 
the shores. At "Vagabondia" the site of a wigwam was 
located by the arrow tips, cooking stones and other ar- 
ticles uneartlied. Red Jacket and the remnant of the 
Six Nations fought on the side of the United States in 
the war of 1812. They were stationed from Chip- 
pewa Bay all along the border. Undoubtedly they 
were well acquainted with the country surrounding 
the Lake. 

Lossing's Em})ire State tells us that " At dawn 
on the morning of February 22, 1813, Lieutenant 
Colonel McDonnell appeau-d on the frozen river (at 
Ogdensburg) with about eight hundred soldiers in 
two columns and pushed on to the village at separate 

S 



points. Forsythe, informed b}' spies of the intended 
assa\ilt, had prepared to receive the invaders, but he 
could not withstand them. It was a sort of a surprise. 
Some of the inhabitants were in bed, others at break- 
fast. They nearly all fled in consternation and after 
an hour of conflict in the streets, Forsythe and his 
troops retreated to Black Lake, eight or nine miles 
distant." 

On one occasion the able bodied men of Rossie 
were ordered to pack two weeks' rations, shoulder 
their muskets and march to Ogdensburg. It Avas a 
"hurry call" and the trip was made in one day's 
march, arriving late in the evening. The men 
camped that night and the next day were ordered to 
shoulder their muskets and march home again. They 
gave their rations to the half starved soldiers camped 
there, some of whom were living on flour and water 
mixed and cooked over the camp fire. 

In 181 B Rossie village Avas captured by the 
British, who came by the way of Morristown, and 
Avas in possession of the enemy ibr tAA'enty-four hours. 
As the inhabitants oflered no resistance, the next 
day the soldiers marched back to Brockville. 

During the Civil War this section furnished its 
full quota of soldiers, including Gen. Curtis, The 
Hero of Fort Fisher, Col. Houghton, Col. Thos. A. 
Davies and others. April 2()th, 1.SC>1, a meeting Avas 
called in Depeyster for the organization of a company. 
Newton Martin Curtis was chosen Captain, John 
Sn3'der First Lieutenant, and William Best Second 
Lieutenant, Avith a full complement of non-commis- 
sioned officers, musicians and sixty -four privates. 
Early after sun rise on May 2d the com})any met in 
the Town Hall. The Avomen of Depeyster presented 
them with a purse of four hundred dollars in place 
( »f a Hag tliat they had been disappointed in obtaining. 
The company proceeded to Ogdensburg, thence to 
Albany, Avhere the Northern companies organized 
into a reo'iment. Thos. A. Davies was chosen Colonel 
on account of his education at West Point, and be- 



cause he had served in a regiment under Colonel 
Zachary Taylor. He was, too, a native of this part 
of the country. In 1802 Colonel Davies was pro- 
moted to be Brigadier General, United States Vol- 
unteers. Although he resided in New York City, he 
and Mrs. Davies spent many summers at Black Lake, 
and "after four score years and ten he was laid to 
rest in the mausoleum erected on the banks of the 
lake about which in youth and later life, he had 
spent many days with rod and gun." 

In the Cuban War Black Lake was repre- 
sented by volunteers from either shore. One was 
present when the Stars and Stripes were raised 
at Guantanamo. 

In 1817 James Munroe, President of the 
United States, visited Rossie as a guest of Mr. 
Parish. 

Edw^ard Everett Hale, the noted author, when 
a young man, also visited Rossie. In the volume 
entitled "The Man Without a Country and Other 
Tales" written by him, the scenes of the story 
"The Children of'the Public" are laid in Rossie. 

For years a quaint old ferry was located at 
what is called The Narrows at Edwardsville. It 
was a scow, fitted with railings on each side, and 
large enough to accommodate a team and wagon. 
The ferryman lived on an island in the middle of 
the Lake. This island divided the ferry into tw^o 
sections. Bells were hung on standards erected 
on both shores. The traveler rang the bell by a 
long rope that dangled at the side, until the fer- 
ryman was alarmed and came over, hitching his 
scow along by means of a lever on a wire stretched 
from shore to shore. In a strong breeze the poor 
beasts that w^ere obliged to cross on this ferry, 
weaved around on their four legs in a tipsy fash- 
ion like the bad sailors that they certainly were. 
A bridge now^ spans the Lake at this point. Not 
long since a steamboat named the Oswegatchie, 
of the type used on the Mississippi River, pHed 



between Rossie and Heuvelton, a distance of 
twenty-five miles, carrying freight and passen- 
gers. One day, in rounding the foot of Bigge 
Island in a high wind, it Hsted to one side with 
the heavy load and sank, those on board escaping 
with some difficulty. It was eventually raised 
and towed to Marsh's Bay, where portions of the 
wreck are still visible. 

At the widest point — from the Rollway across 
Broad Lake — the distance is four miles. The wa- 
ters abound with fish of various species, among 
which are several kinds of bass, including black 
bass, and white fish, pike, pickerel, cat-fish, and 
even the despised dog-fish, now being advocated 
as a food to reduce the high cost of living. Nu- 
merous varieties of the smaller fry are found in 
abundance. 

It is said that a German naturalist spent a 
year at Edwardsville studying the bill-fish, a 
rare species that is found only here. The long 
sharp bills bump against the boats with a dull 
thud. It is a strange sight to see a great shoal 
of them at spawning time, crowding each other 
out of the water in a vain endeavor to reach the 
rocky shore. Futile efforts were made to capture 
one for a specimen at such a time. All kinds of 
hook and bait proved useless. Even a gaff hook 
failed to penetrate their armor. Attempts have 
been made to free the Lake of these fish, as it is 
believed they prey upon other species. At one 
time an appropriation from the State was ob- 
tained for this purpose. 

Nearly all of the islands that dot Black Lake 
are now occupied by cottages. On Elizabeth 
Island the late Amasa Thornton, Tom Reed and 
others built what was known as the New York 
Club House. For several years they kept as care- 
taker Geo. Munk, the youngest brother of Hank 
Munk, the stage-coach driver of the Rockies, 
made famous by the story of Horace Greeley's 

8 



ride over the mountains with him. The Club 
House is now owned and occupied as a Summer 
home by a prominent New Yorker. Several of 
the adjacent cottages are owned by New York 
City people. Two of the cottages on the main 
land are owned by descendants of the first Dutch 
settlers of Manhattan — one of Annette Jans, well 
known to readers of history, the other of the 
Ryckmans, after whom it is said the Borough of 
Richmond (Staten Island) was named and who 
sold the property where the Stock Exchange now 
stands for the then fabulous sum of eight hun- 
dred and fifty dollars. So the past and present 
of Black Lake are closely interwoven with that 
of New York City. 

The G. A. R. Club House was built on Min- 
eral Point, opposite the RoUway, by ten members 
of Erwin H. Barnes Post of Gouverneur. At one 
time a postoffice was established there called 
Army, with the late Elmer Gray as Postmaster. 
It is now owned by a physician of Gouverneur. 
Morris Island and properties on the shore oppo- 
site are in the possession of the descendants of 
the Church family. 

The village of Heuvelton is on the Oswe- 
gatchie River. Edwardsville and "The Cedars" 
are on the shore of the Lake, while Pope Mills is 
on Fish Creek, one of its tributaries. The nat- 
ural scenery resembles that of the St. Lawrence 
River, which is, at the nearest point, only two 
miles distant. A fine State road connects at 
Gouverneur with the main auto road from New 
York City to the Adirondacks, making this inter- 
esting place easily accessible to tourists. The 
point known as The RoUway is the most fre- 
(juented part of the Lake. In the autumn Lone- 
some Bay has its particular attractions for duck 
hunters. Justina Park on Bigge Island is the 
Mecca for camping parties. Although the Indian 
has passed to his Happy Hunting Ground, count- 



less individuals still follow his trail in the pursuit 
of health and happiness on the shores of Black 
Lake. 



!M 



THE RAINDOW PATH AND THE POT OF GOLD. 

O'er hill and dale, through copse and wood, 

We follow o'er a rocky road, 

Where moss lined path and fern capped knoll 

Beckons on to the breezy goal. 

Past lowland farm, up steep "Pine Hill," 

Curving 'round by the old "Lime Kiln," 

By quiet churchyard and sleepy town, 

On to the "Iiollwa.y" sloping down ; 

Plodding ever in sinuotis line 

At last we see, in course of time, 

A low point tipped with rocky reef 

Stand 'gainst the sky in bold relief. 

Upon its banks waves softly "swish" 

Where "eel flies" lure the wily fish. 

The hushed shores lie, dim pictures seen 

Above the water's silvery sheen, 

And snowy lillies gently rock, 

Cradled in ripples that kiss the "dock." 

The white ducks flit across the sky 

To where the fields of wild rice lie. 

And sounds a note on distant hills — 

The plaintive song of whippoorwills. 

Here floating islands idly sway 

Upon the bosom of the bay. 

While grim "Big Island" proudly stands 

Embroidered 'round with rock and sand.s. 

The white caps roll and swift sails ride 

O'er crested wave with bouyant pride, 

And steam yachts plow away the foam 

Like glistening lines of furrowed loam. 

We lie and dream in idle way 

On the soft grass at close of day. 

And hear the rustling of angels' wings 

In the moaning song the old pine sings. 

Care and sorrow, by magic wand. 

Banished are from this happy land. 

And life and love sweet sunshine make 

Upon the borders of Black Lake. 



lO 



" VAGABONDIA" 

"Vagabondia," fair and still, 
Ne.stled underneath the hill. 
Sunny ripples kiss the shore, 
Breezes fan it o'er and o'er, 
Birches white lean o'er the edge 
Clinging to the rocky ledge. 
Blackbirds call, the hum of bees; 
Piney odors from the trees, 
Shifting shadows, cool and sweet. 
Spots where sun and shadow meet. 
Where the golden lillies fioat, 
Wavelets ecldy 'round our boat; 
Through the waters out and in 
Dart the fish with shining fin. 
On the rocks the turtle lays 
Basking in the sun's warm rays ; 
Ferns and mosses nod at him 
From Belie Island's stony rim. 
Nature waved her fairy wand 
O'er this dear and happy laud. 
"Jolly Vags," we love it well, 
More than I can ever tell ; 
But out of mind is out of sight 
To "the ships that pass at night." 



MY GUM TREE CANOE. 

Let not the hand of man defile 

This rude reminder of the past. 
But let it lie in peace awhile — 

This resting place it finds at last. 

The dashing waves its sides have rent, 

Its eraptuiess an echo seems 
Of days when stealthy warriors w(^nt 

To rouse the settler from his dreams. 

Alas! The wigwam fires are dead ; 

The hand that paddled it is still. 
The race that fashioned it has fled 

From rock bound shore and wooded hill. 

Their arrows rust beneath the sod. 

Their bow strings stretch beyond the skies, 

And where their nioccasined feet once trod. 
Stranded, this old canoe now lies. 

Upon the bosom of the lake 
No more its battered form shall sway ; 

A wreck sublime — let no one take 
This relic of a by-gone day. 

(These verses were written and fastened to the remains of 
an old Indian dug-out found sunken in one of the bays. ) 

1 1 



"THE CEDARS." 

A little church so modest 

Stands on the Western shore. 
The spire upon the belfry 

Points heavenward evermore. 
And on the Sabbath evening 

Our sleeping fancies wake 
As we listen to the music 

Of the bells across the F^ake 

Calling to the fisherman, 

The farmer and the sage, 
To merry lads and lassies, 

To men of every age. 
Deep in our hearts there echoes, 

The melodies they make, 
As we listen to the chiming 

Of the bells across the Lake. 

As our boat drifts into shadows 

Of the hazy twilight mist, 
And softly rocks in rythm 

By lazy ripples kissed, 
The spell of rest steals o'er us, 

Its incense we partake 
As we hear the distant murmur 

Of the bells across the Lake, 

Oh! gentle bells of evening! 

You little know your worth ; 
You never dream how dear you seem. 

To vagabonds of earth! 
We breathe in Sabbath spirit 

A prayer for His dear sake. 
As we hear the solemn tolling 

Of the bells across the Lake. 



12 



STATE OF MACOMB, SEPTEMBER NINETEEN, 
YEAR EIGHTEEN NINETY-SIX, I WEEN. 

Kind Fhiexd : 

Of a Summer that's only just past, 

1 send you this message, it may be m\' last, 

I hope you reiueiiiber our Club House down here 

In this corner of Eden with its serpents, I fear 

That mem'ry turns backward with lingering glance, 

Life's pages of sternness and tender romance, 

And gives one stray thought to tiiis spot and the days 

AVhen we sailed, rowed and sang, and were happy always. 

To the "wishing gate" small at the foot of the hills, 

That we had to pass through when -we Avent to Pope Mills, 

The Lead Mine beyond antl the deserted town 

AVith its wide grassy street and its walls crumbling down, 

The Point and the islands and then the Roll way, 

And the echoos that hover o'er dark Lonesome Bay 

And it makes the blood curdle, and oh! how we pant! 

P'or on Anderson's island there is a real "hant" ! 

And have j'ou forgotten the old ruined mill 

Near Morse's sand yard, where we play at our will. 

And the bridge on Fish Creek that I've sometimes leaned o'er 

And wished that you'd come back to see it once more. 

The cloth that you bought, warranted never to fade, 

And the pretty blue pennant swift fingers soon made. 

The flag staff that bore it, the wading ground near, 

The lantern we rowed by dark nights, without fear, 

The fine '"Henley" stroke and the "'chickenly" too, 

They proved small assistance, 'tis certainly true ; 

But 'twas labor of love, please accept it as such, 

And while you're remembering don't blame us too much. 

The "petticoat sails" that float crost the Bay, 

(And I notice with Payne that they always are Gray.) 

The trim little steam boat with swift dancing keel, 

With Pud at the engine and Ken at the wheel. 

But never mind now, enough has been said. 

For summer is gone and the lillies are dead. 

The "phoebes" have flown to come back no more 

And the gliosts of good times stalk out through the door. 

We will close up the book and toss out the pen 

For no one will come here to register again 

And when you read this remember to send 

A message of thought to 

Your Absent Friend. 
P. S. 

The "critic" would say this is very bad verse 
And Pm thinking myself that it could not be worse. 
But 'tis penned in a hurry and but for the sake 
Of our vacation days on tliis jolly Black Lake. 



13 



THE WATER LILY. 

Chaste little blossom, fair lotus of old, 
Slowly your leaves to the sun you unfold, 
Resting on lily pads cool and green, 
Wafting your sweetness from worlds unseen. 

Rocking idly on the white-tipped wave 
Pink tinted stems the clear waters lave, 
Or else mirrored on the quiet lake, 
Reflected loveliness shines in your wake. 

Pearly petals and a heart of gold, 

Inceuse from Heaven your chalices hold 

Snowy symbol of slumber and rest, 

Closing your buds when the sun's in the West. 

Born in the depths of the ooze and slime 
Your pure spirit soars to light in time. 
Learn from the lily — rise from the sod 
To the glory of the throne of God. 



WOOD VIOLETS. 

At eve, each day, fresh coverlids turned down, we find 
To give the tender new born bud the sparkling wine 

Of balmy breeze and soft-falling April shower. 
Each morn some sweet new blossom bids us "good morning," 
With fragrant bloom its low woodland bed adorning, 
Rising from their mossy couch in countless numbers, 
Their dew-washed eyelids opening from matin slumbers. 
The gentle sisterhood of blue and white and gold, 
Their modest beauty to the wooing winds unfold, 

Shyly they hold up for the rain their tiny cup. 
And drink the fragile measure full. Delicious draught, 
Such golden liquid chastest color gives when quaffed. 

So they bloom on and breathe their incense up to Him 
Who made them that they might perfume these hidden nooks 
And scatter petals in the limpid purling brooks 

That spots remote may catch the scent of violets. 



14 



WILD ROSES. 

Gathering the roses, leaving each thorn, 
This the trite story of youth's early morn. 
Age in its weakness will miss the perfume 
Wafted from the lips of the rose's pure bloom, 
And sit down with tears in the armchair of time, 
And mourn o'er the feebleness and the chill rime, 
And the dead hopes of years flown forever and aye 
And the roses that flushed in youth's merry hey-day — 
In the days that are gone. 

'Tis a fatal mistake in spring's warm day 
If the farmer fail in the ground to lay 
Seed for the harvest that ripens in Fall, 
So when winter casts o'er earth its white pall 
It can laugh at its grave clothes and spread good cheer 
To brighten the days of the fast dying year. 
So of life if we know the full glory complete, 
We must toil and take daily the bitter and sweet, 
And the rose and the thorn. 



DOWN ON LONESOME BAY. 

A SONG OF THE NORTHLAND. 

When the Northland woods are brown 

And the leaves are sifting down, 

When the Autumn breeze thro' the evergreen trees 

Hums a low sweet song. 
Then I dream of the days of yore, 
And I long to tread once more 
The winding track that leads to a shack 

Down on Lonesome Bay. 

Chorus — 

Down on Lonesome Bay 
Where the fields of wild rice lay, 
Where the wild ducks soar 
To the opposite shore, 
And the bobolinks sing all day. 
With my rod and gun in my boat 
O'er the billowy waves I float. 
Oh, I want to go back to that dear little shack 
Down on Lonesome Bay. 

I dwell on the 'leventeenth floor 

Far above the city's roar. 

And I often sigh that I never learned to fly 

To get down to earth once more. 
I work all the time in a loft, 
And I never can get a day off. 
I ride in the "Sub" and sleep in the tub 

In this lonesome town. 
Cho.— 

15 



BY THE OSWEGATCHIE RIVER' 

A SONG OF THE NORTHLAND. 

In the foothills of the mountains 

Of the Adirondack chain 
There runs a rippling river 

With a mellow Indian name, 
As a boy I played beside it 

With my sweetheart by my side, 
And soon I'm going back again 

To claim her as my bride. 

Chorus — 

By the Oswegatchie river 
Where the winds blow clear and free. 

There's a pretty little maiden 
Who is waiting there for me. 

All the world will be forgotten, 
There'll be only just us two. 

When she paddles down to meet me 
In her little birch canoe. 

O'er the humming of the city 

I can hear the robin's note, 
Beyond the walls of brick and stone 

I see the lillies float. 
The old sweet lover's call resounds 

In fancy from the shore. 
I'm going home to Northland 

To see it all once more. 

Chorus — 



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